Date: Sat, 04 Aug 2001 10:52:53 +0000
From: J C
Subject: My Holiday in Eastern Europe chapter 1
Dedicated to Andrew my best friend and talented writer, who else. The idea
of this story comes from Andrew's story with the same title. It
belongs to him.
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My Holliday in Eastern Europe
Chapter 1
Having swung between the narrow seats and lingering through the free
magazines for eight hours, I finally arrived at Ferihegyi Airport, Budapest.
No air crash, nor hijacking; everything ran smoothly for a traveler.
Checking the luggage and passport may be interesting only if there was
nothing to be checked. The frozen face of the customs officer was worth
studying a little. The spacious hall and hundreds of strange people's faces
were just like an old rebroadcast movie. The lead-gray autumn was already
waiting outside and greeting me with her cold draft. Alas, the sullen
autumn, the first Hungarian I met.
Holidays, are of no pity. said by Eugenio Montale. My holiday might be so.
Soon I was taxiing on the asphalt of Budapest. The taxi was an old one but
still comfortable with an old man who barely spoke anything on the road. The
zeal provoked by the prophets of traveling was cooling down while the wind
was blowing through the car window. Outside it was a gray-toned monochrome.
The sky, the buildings, the people all revolved in an atmosphere of gray. I
smelt something, a strange smell, and the smell of timeworn things that were
stored in lofts for decades; the smell of the city Budapest. The car ran so
fast that I couldn't actually capture any view of this city. Soon I was in
the Liszt Hotel.
Liszt was a good name. But the city was full of Liszts. The museums, the
streets, the hotels were Liszt, Liszt, and again Liszt on the map. But at
least it's not very expensive and was probably the best choice for an
ambitious traveler with little money like me. The room was warm inside. As
soon as I threw myself on the soft bed I didn't want to move. While lying
lazily on the bed, I looked around the room. Every hotel was alike. I
thought if I had stayed in the room for one day, I would have forgotten that
I had already arrived in Hungry. There was one TV set at the corner. I
turned it on. The monotonous voice came from the box. It was a troublesome
ghost. And it didn't leave you a single minute of peace, no matter if I was
in my home, or in this Eastern European country, which is thousands of
kilometers away. They would break their little heart over and over again
just so as to add one more disc to their selling record. Nonsense.
The sky was getting darker. It was around 5:30. Looking out from the window,
people were moving in every direction. There were doctors, engineers,
professors, plumbers, milkmen, robbers and thieves in the river of humans.
There might have been another pair of eyes staring back while I was peering
out through the window. It was a strange feeling, he was a part of your
sight and you his. Nobody noticed his position in others' lives; they were
even unaware of their own. This accidental encounter may sometimes connect
two glances together; and sometimes it happened, and then disappeared into
the air. How many people would fall in love at first sight? Too many stories
try to persuade us that it is true. Maybe we just passed it nearby for so
many times.
I decided to start my trip exploring old Budapest. There was a rent-a-car
service listed in the phone book. I picked up the phone and dialed the
number. Just a few minutes later, a car arrived at the front of the hotel.
It was almost a new one. A man checked my license and handed me the key,
took the money, wished me a good trip then left as soon as possible. I was
surprised by his efficiency and economical use of time. I was a bit of
afraid that whether the people in this city were all as busy as this rushing
businessman who left me no impression but a almost blank card with phone
number.
Sitting with this new companion, I looked around. Who had rented this car
before? I am curious about its somewhat brief history. What had happened at
the back seat? Maybe there was a murder. I could imagine the picture of a
corpse lying there and the bloody smell permeating in the tiny space. Oh my
god! Was I paranoid? I started the car and left the hotel. But my head had
refused to stop thinking about the back seat. Or there might be a romantic
and frenetic lovemaking. Young boys with their hands and legs twisted. I
could see as if it was happening right there. It became smelly with the odor
of boys' bodies.
Stop! I knew it was time to take control of my crazy mind, which was full of
sexual fancy. Maybe I should see a doctor and let him force me to speak out
every word I keep at the back of my mind from the reach of anybody and
enjoyed only with myself and mark me as a patient, a serious one. Or maybe I
should confess in the dark room at the corner of the cathedral, admit a sin
and kill it with the power given from a holy black man who declared he knew
and did nothing about it while telling you it was wrong. My head ran faster
than the car. I stopped it and went out for a change. I was just beside the
River Danube.
The river flowed in silence. The dark blue water was under my feet, running
forwards. It carried thousands of stories of happiness or sorrow that
happened at her bank to some place far away. But it remained calm and
peaceful. Crudely calm and peaceful, I would say. It didn't cry for
anybody, nor did it cheer for anything. It cared naught but for its daily
journey to the sea. It was fast asleep. Nobody can wake it up from its
beautiful dream. The Danube had been so for thousands of years, during which
a hundred times as many men were born, grew up, fell in love and died with
its humming. Only gods, if there were any above the clouds, could be the
friends of the river. Humans were so flimsy.
The dark night had fallen and lit up the street-lamps. Faint orange light
painted everything with the same color. The city was like an old faded
photograph. The old buildings were standing like wounded veterans of the
World War. No skyscrapers would knock into your sight and break down the
harmony of old-time memories. The stars were flickering in the sky and
lights were glittering in the window. It was not substantial, but notes from
Strauss' Blue Danube echoed in the air. I went back to `my' car, my
temperate companion and started off.
I watched out at the side of the street. There was something written between
the lines of the brochure. I was driving on a broad road. There were fewer
people there; only huge buildings blocking my view of the night. It was a
beauteous night, calm and free. I thought of Wordsworth and drove to the
Dunakorz where stands the statue of Sandor Pet?fi and where beauty is an
item that can be bought with a few dollars. Pretty eyes were a good reason
to pay 100 dollar and sexy lips for 50; muscular body for 100 and a smooth
one equals that. It is what we call civilization that makes the trade as
eloquent as possible. I saw a group of young people, boys in black leather
jackets and girls in finery. But the clothes were not right for the ruthless
wind of the autumn in Budapest. They were walking up and down the street,
trying to keep warm together and do their `work' at the same time, hoping
to catch someone's eyes peering out from the cars running by. They
sometimes stopped, leaned to the wall and talked with the others for a
while. It was another way to kill the time. I saw different kinds of smiles
on their faces. They were beautiful but only for business, not for joy, not
for fun, not for anybody they knew. It's like the smile you see on the face
of waiters in a restaurant. But their smile was still different; I saw the
feeling hide behind it. Wrath and sorrow were the same background color of
them. It was the bitter smile of Budapest. They were inharmonic to this
somewhat gorgeous street as a stroke of gray on a colorful painting. What
had happened to them and who threw them from warm bedrooms onto this cold
street? I didn't know.
A car stopped; an ordinary Benz. A man pointed to a boy among them and
opened the door for him and sped off as the boy disappeared into the dark
backseat. They watched as their friend left and continued walking. Then I
saw another boy. He was different from his friends in the ragged jacket and
looked very usual. He followed them in silence and occasionally glanced at
the street. Most of time he just hung his head and kicked anything he could
find on the side. He was not fit for the job, I think. And he was not very
handsome but he was cute enough. His friend stopped him and told him
something. His face apparently blushed and then he raised his head a little.
I suddenly felt I was attracted. Was it desire that urged me? It was not
right but I did want something. I drove the car slowly by the curb. Their
eyes were staring at me, or rather at my car. Now I thought it was worth
that money to rent this one. I stopped and a girl came up to me. She spoke
Hungarian. I didn't understand at all. But I thought it might work if I did
as the man. So I pointed at the boy and said ?Him?. The girl was surprised a
little and dissatisfied. Her exotic smile didn't have much effect this
time. She turned around and shouted: ?Zoltan!? I thought it must be his
name. He hesitated and slowly went up to the girl. His friends patted him on
the shoulder and some of them whistled with a strange look. It certainly
slowed down his pace. The girl whispered something to him in Hungarian. I
didn't pay much attention to it and opened the door. He finally got in and
closed the door. "Do you know English?" I suddenly realized the trouble in
language.
"Yes," he said. Great, I thought. It may be a requirement for this `job'
as there were not many Hungarians who could afford such a `service'. I
started the care and drove away from the loitering young people.
"Where are we going to?" he asked with a bit uneasiness and looked back at
his friends.
"To my hotel. Will it be OK?" I was just thinking if the doorkeeper would
let me in. I searched my wallet and handed him a one-hundred-dollar, equal
to 298,700 Forint if I didn't mistake the exchange rate.
"It's too much." He looked a bit happier when he saw the money but he
didn't accept.
I didn't know whether it would be too much or not enough. I was not
familiar with the 'market'. But it seemed so. In some countries in
southern Africa where the annual income is 65 dollar or so, 100 dollars
might feed a whole village. And it might save the life of a refugee of
former Yugoslavia for one more day in the restless flames of war. And it
might be too much for a lad who had to sell his body for bread or something
else only God knew. But it was not too much for another lad at his age who
sat comfortably in the car and looked for some extra excitement in an
Eastern Europe holiday. It might become a bunch of postcards that were
forgotten to be mailed or a pile of unusual souvenirs that would find their
place in the dusty storage room, and it may became the price of a boy who
was no different from me in any way -- I felt guilty. But it's a cash trade.
I bought it for one night, only one night then all is over. Who cared that
much? Would the man care in his old Benz? I decided to do it.
"No, no, keep it. It's all right." I replied, stared at him and quickly
looked sideway as his eyes met mine. It's certainly not a good idea to talk
about the weather. So I asked what his name was to start the conversation.
Was it really important to know who he was? But it's not the same as when
you buy something from the supermarket.
"Zoltan. Zoltan Reiner," he replied
Well, so he was Zoltan, and Reiner... more than I expected to know. ?So did
you want to eat something?? I hadn't eaten anything since I got off the
plane and began to feel a little Hungary. Oh, not Hungary but hungry, for
food and desire.
"Yes." He didn't object to this delay of the business.
I saw a McDonalds at the side of the street. It was placed in such a funny
position between two buildings decorated with the communism sign that
luckily hadn't been destroyed ten years ago. It was like a big octopus
stretching its tentacles everywhere, I thought. This wonderful memorial to
the success of the bourgeoisie sold everything with a cheap, American-style
philosophy. But it was not wise to find some small inn that had real
Hungarian food and robbers and thieves. Besides, I am not a gastronome. A
hamburger and some French fries with a big Coca-Cola would comfort my
stomach.
"What about McDonalds?" I asked him.
"Okay," he agreed. I stopped the car and we went in. He didn't speak much
and quickly finished his meal. So did I. Then we drove on.
"Could you stop here?" he looked backwards and asked when we crossing a
street.
"Certainly." I agreed although I was afraid that he would disappear with the
100 dollars.
He opened the door and ran directly to a girl who stood there playing a
violin. Mozart, perhaps... I guess. He handed the girl the note. And there
was a shocked look on her face. She laughed and jumped around, kicking away
the cup in front of him with some coins in it. She seemed to be much more
excited than he. Was he her brother? I didn't hear what they were saying
since it was too far away. But the girl sometimes looked here. Staring at
her eyes, I suddenly felt guilty and a need to hide myself. It didn't last
long. He helped the girl pack the violin and whispered something to her and
then he kissed her on the forehead and ran back.
I didn't ask him who the girl was. I believed it would not be a good
question. His face seemed a little brighter. I could even see a smile, which
was lacking on the people's faces who stood by the side of the road as he
had. In a few minutes, we arrived at the hotel.
The doorkeeper didn't give me too much trouble as long as I gave him a
proper amount of tip. But he stared at Zoltan and mumbled in Hungarian.
I brought him to my room. We sat on the chairs and for quite a while we were
just sitting there. I thought he was thinking about how to make a start,
much like me. No put-your-hand-on-his-thigh trick. ?Silence like a cancer
grows.? But I got a chance to take a more careful look at him. He wore a
brown leather jacket, some low-quality made-in-China stuff that was
everywhere in the markets of Hungary.
And a white T-shirt inside. There was a ?Just do it? in red on the shirt.
Interesting words, I thought, just do it and don't care so much about the
gods if there would be one or more in the sky far from here or the damn
dogma that makes a typical good kid. If you want to survive with countable
forint in Hungary, you have to do it for bread, for a hot bath and for a
place to stay in for a few days if the customer would be so kind as to let
you stay away from the cold wind blowing in the street outside for a couple
of days. Then just do it.
He had a pair of light green eyes and brownish yellow hair. So what should I
write about his appearance other than these boring descriptions of eyes and
hair? He was not the porn star that could be described as sexy or charming.
But he was cute regardless. I even planned how to kiss the rosy lips that
curved nervously.
Some places of his old blue jeans had already turned white. I didn't see
the `obvious bulge' which would appear many times on a single page of the
gay magazines. He was not tall and seemed a little thin, no doubt because
he went without lots of junk food that empties the wallet of rich kids and
finally turns into a good reason to get on a diet. And his tennis shoes were
not better...
When I was about to a survey his shoes, he asked, ?Could I take a bath??
So everything would run on the track, I thought. It seemed to be a sign, a
suggestion. And I just let him go ahead. I could hear the sound of water. I
was thinking about his body, how the water traveled down from the curves of
his flesh. Such imagination simply aroused me and my cheeks became hotter
and redder. The music of water soon stopped, perhaps soon was not a good
adverb. I guessed it was probably ten minutes but too soon to `get down to
business' for me. I leaned forward and was curious about how he would come
out. With a bathrobe actually covering nothing which was so common a scene
in the videotapes that should be hidden somewhere under your bed? Perhaps.
But he did not. He was fully dressed. What a pity! He washed his hair as
well now he seemed a little `moisture'. He sat back. After a few minutes
of playing with the cloth of his T-shirt, he said: ? So, let's start.? His
voice was almost too faint to be heard. But I suddenly didn't know how to
reply. It was my target of, wasn't it? It was what I had dreamt of even
before I got on the plane, right? I was trying to find a proper word.
But he already had the hands on his jacket. He stood up and took off his
jacket quickly, like getting rid of something horrible. His face was very
red and he didn't look at me at that moment. But he hesitated when he
grabbed his T-shirt. Then he finally made up his mind to pull it over his
head. I have to admire his smooth chest. His jeans followed, but the
underwear was not so easy-going. He looked at me through the corner of his
eyes. I had no idea of how to respond; I regained the feeling of looking at
the porn magazines displayed in the shop window when I was much younger. It
was a feeling both exciting and shocking. Then he turned his body a little
and took the final step.
He didn't know where to put his hands and so he let them move nervously on
his body. He sat on the bed and waited, keeping his eyes staring at the
floor. I walked over and sat beside him. I couldn't move my eyes away from
his body. I put my hands on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body. He
turned his head and directly faced me, hands resting on his thigh. I was
afraid of his eyes, which were too innocent to stare at. I held my breath
not because of orgasm but some feeling of shame. He was like an angel, who
was drawn by Satan to his Hell, like an orphan of dignity from Heaven. I
couldn't lay my hands on his body; they would spoil the untouched natural
sanctity. It was not the feeling that the wood-made god on the altar could
impress me. I don't know. Maybe it's fair, maybe, but not right. I saw no
love's flame was glowing in his eyes; I saw no passion in his eyes, which
were simply staring at a stranger. He even didn't know who I am. So what's
the meaning of lovemaking? Was it just to satisfy the animal desire? Then
why not do it yourself? It did the same work, didn't it? Or do we just take
our pleasure in another's sorrow? In another's loss? Maybe we sometimes
have to prove to ourselves our ability as man, or as a male beast inside the
costume of civilization? How could I see the lad before my eyes as a product
marked with price? Every man was created equal, if I remember this sentence
right, but Jefferson was wrong. I am here, fully dressed. He is here too,
but nude. Only this seemed ridiculous enough. But I already have my
erection, naturally. Was it a shame? Were sexual fondness and wet dreams
sins even if they were so natural that they couldn't be control?
He sighed. I think I heard it come from the deepest corner of his heart,
full of unhappy experience and disappointment in life. Is life a beautiful
thing when you have to sell your body for a piece of bread and without
knowing where you will stay tomorrow night? People didn't have to stay on
the street to wait for some one no matter how bad looking and old he was.
They do not have to shake in the chilly autumn of Budapest. They do not have
to make their living by a way they hate. So they didn't give a shit. Life
was sunny for them but rainy for this lad.
I moved closer. He lay on the bed and closed his eyes, waiting. I kissed his
forehead lightly. Oscar Wilde came to my mind. What does a boy's body look
like in his aesthetic eyes? And how did his finders trace down the smooth
skin of some rent boy in his luxury room in London with his lover, Lord
Douglas? Desire, in the end, was a malady, or madness, or both, as he said
in De Profundis. Should I take pleasure in what pleases me, forgetting that
every little action of the common days and that therefore what one has done
in the secret chamber one has someday to cry out loud on the housetop and
allow the pleasure to dominate me? What an amazing scene it was in Wilde's
lustful eyes. Would his hands gently massage the chest of a young boy, as
naked as the body lying here? He would circle on his belly then go down to
the secret black forest... But I just like to look at this moment, to behold
all of him by my hungry eyes. I couldn't help to touch the pink and fresh
nipples. I touched, and it felt like reading a book of mystery I never knew.
Ecstasy was the right mood and I did get into it. Yet I was looking at a
far, distant land that I couldn't land on. If anything is sacred, a
human's body is sacred. I should worship it, as well as I should worship
the god who is sacred. Sex is not among the saints. Is sex dirty? Only if
it's done right. Could I caress this boy with my hands trembling with the
embedded excited hope that could not be claimed, the ones that may end with
terrible disgrace yet the most instinct flowing of humanity.
He opened his eyes and reached out for my hands that were uncontrollable. He
pressed one to his chest. I felt his heartbeats... a little quick. I gazed
at his eyes. They were kind, only kind no more, no ardor inside. He tried to
take off my overcoat with the other hand...
A thought suddenly flashed in my mind. Love and sex, if they were not one,
they should be nothing. I was to choose one. What's the difference between
vanity and vanity? It would be a loss of nothing gained. Enough sex had I,
but love seldom shone upon my mind. Maybe my choice would be right.
I held his hands and smiled at him, then slowly stood up from the bed. He
was confused and reclined upon the pillow.
"Just stop here. You can get dressed. Would you like something to drink?" I
found a bottle of Coca-Cola and asked. Wine would not be proper. Its redness
was only a stupid infatuation.
"But, did I do something wrong?" He stammered, a little worried
"No, no, you did nothing wrong, I am just not in that mood." It was an
excuse indeed.
"Could you take me to my home?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, of course I can." I was a little disappointed that he would leave
so soon. I regretted it. Maybe I should have taken him in my arms and tasted
him by licking his sweetness. Then? Handle his scrotum in my palm and hold
his shaft, bring it to climax -- and take the final step: enter him, explore
the secret garden and plant my seed there. At last, say goodbye and forget
it entirely.
He was putting his clothes back on. Now I understand Albert Einstein's
great theory of relativity. The time seemed shortened when he redressed
himself and quickened when he took them off. It was piteous to watch his
body disappeare into the ugly clothes.
We walked out of the room in silence. I looked at my watch. It was just
eleven.
I drove the car and he told me which way to take. The road got narrower and
narrower. The street-lamps disappeared upon turning. There was absolute
darkness. With the light of the headlight, I could see various people
passing. Their eyes were glowing like a cat's -- a black cat's.
We stopped at a building. It was a very old one. He asked me to wait for a
while. I consented. Perhaps my brain didn't work right at that moment.
Maybe he planned to rob me. In such a place nobody could hear my screams,
and even if they heard, they wouldn't help a foreign tourist as foolish and
`rich' as me. Then he knocked at the window.
I opened the door and he handed me one hundred dollars, the same note as I
had given him.
"We didn't do it, so here's the money..." he explained.
I looked at him curiously. It was interesting that the money lost its magic
power over man, especially in this country where it was a rare commodity.
And I saw, too, the girl I saw in the evening, standing at the back of the
window and looked at me with a questioning face.
I put the money back into his pocket and said: "No, keep it. But promise to
be at my hotel tomorrow. You remember the room, right?"
He hesitated, and then said, "Okay, I promise."
I could see from the rear-view mirror that he stood there, watching;
watching until my car was too far away. He must have been wondering about
me. A stupid foreigner with eccentric mind, I bet it's what he was
thinking.
I was in the hotel again. A long and relaxing bath washed off the discomfort
of the cold. I just wanted to sleep. I didn't know what I was doing today.
Maybe a wise man would come into my dream and tell me. But I wanted to
sleep.